


Christmas Is for Lovers

by stoplightglow



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Radio, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Holiday Elements, M/M, more or less
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-29 22:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17212031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoplightglow/pseuds/stoplightglow
Summary: “I sort of—” Frank takes a deep breath, looks up, then swiftly drops his gaze again. “I sort of told her I have a boyfriend.”





	Christmas Is for Lovers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [corruptedkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corruptedkid/gifts).



> a million thank yous to [akamine_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan) for such a helpful beta and for running this exchange!

Frank has his full body weight pressed against the door, ear planted firmly to the wood, so when Ray abruptly swings it open he nearly faceplants. “Dude,” Ray says, unimpressed. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Waiting on you.” Frank steadies himself against the doorframe, totally playing it cool. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

“Probably because—” Taking a step back into the room, Ray makes a big show of knocking on the door, which is like, six inches thick. The rap of his knuckles is faint and only audible at all because the door is open now. “—our studios are soundproof.”

“Fuck you, I know that.” Frank waves a hand at him. “I wasn’t going to barge in while you were on air.”

For that, at least, Ray seems grateful. Still, he sighs and rubs a hand over his jaw. “Are you going to tell me why you were lurking outside of my studio instead of doing something that would justify your paycheck?”

Oh, fuck, right. It hits Frank again all at once and he winces. “My mom called.”

Ray’s expression doesn’t change. “So? I like your mom.”

“I also like my mom,” Frank says, because the woman is an actual saint. Except for right now. Right now the thought of facing her makes him want to change his name and flee the country. “It’s just that she wants me to come over for dinner. On Christmas.”

Ray, clearly resigning to the fact that this is going to be a long one, shuts his studio door and starts towards the break room. “Is she not doing vegetarian this year?”

At that notion, Frank goes from agonized to truly appalled. He stops dead in the middle of the hallway. “Fuck no. She would never do that to me.”

Ray turns around to face him. “Then what the hell is the problem?”

Frank looks at his shoes. They shuffle on the dirty carpet. Brian’s probably going to make him vacuum later.

Ray clears his throat expectantly.

“I sort of—” Frank takes a deep breath, looks up, then swiftly drops his gaze again. “I sort of told her I have a boyfriend.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Ray’s eyes go all wide, and Frank groans inwardly. He doesn’t want to have to explain his predicament _more._ “Wait, shit, is she not cool with that? You can come have dinner with my family instead. They’re all very accepting.”

“No, that’s — god. That’s not the issue. She’s known about me for years.”

“Oh.” Realization dawns on Ray’s face like clouds parting. “Oh, I get it. You don’t _have_ a boyfriend.”

Frank grits his teeth. He really doesn’t need Ray to rub it in. “No. I do not.”

“Then why did you tell her you _do?”_

“To make her happy!” Frank barely avoids smacking Ray as he throws his hands up. “She already has a twenty-three-year-old college dropout for a son who couldn’t even make it farther than the local radio station, I didn’t want her to also have to deal with the fact that I’m going to be _alone forever.”_

“Come on, you’re not—” Frank raises an eyebrow at him, and he stops. “Okay, so maybe your track record isn’t great. Or existent. But that doesn’t mean you can’t find someone by Christmas, you’ve got nearly a week.”

Frank runs a hand over his face and gives up on keeping the groan inward. “I think it kind of does.”

Since Ray is an insufferable optimist, though, he puts on his thinking face and leads the rest of the way to the break room.

After Ray pours them both coffee into chipped blue mugs — Frank’s favorites, the ones that read _WNJR: The only radio station that will kick your ass!_ — he shakes his head and bumps his shoulder against Frank’s companionably. “I wish I knew what to tell you, man. If I didn’t already have plans with Christa, I’d totally come be your fake boyfriend.”

“My mom would know you’re not my type,” Frank says automatically, then jerks and almost spills his coffee as two wires connect in his brain. “Although — wait. That might not be such a bad idea.”

Ray eyes him dubiously. “I just told you I have plans.”

“Not _you.”_ Frank flaps a hand at him, but he’s not really paying attention anymore, too busy leaning forward to peer out the break room door at the people passing by. The hour just ended, so his coworkers are stretching out their legs and getting rid of the kinks in their backs before they have to go back on. William walks by, and then Pete. They’re not really his type either.

Still. “I could definitely convince someone here to be my fake boyfriend.”

“Um.” Ray leans forward to scope out the hallway too. Frank knows what he’s thinking; Pete has a girlfriend, William just started hooking up with this guy he won’t shut up about, and no one else on earth is as catastrophically desperate and lonely as Frank. In a carefully controlled voice, Ray says, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.” No. “Is Brian single?”

Ray’s jaw almost hits the floor. “You can _not_ bring your boss home to your mom.”

“Okay, fine, someone else.” Frank rolls his eyes. He doesn’t see why fake-dating your boss for one night would be such a big deal, but Ray is usually right about these things. “There has to be someone around here who doesn’t already have plans.”

“Yeah, but even then.” Ray scratches the back of his neck, obviously torn between being a supportive friend and someone with even a shred of realism. “Just because someone is free doesn’t mean they’re going to want to spend their day off being toted around as a fake boyfriend. That’s kind of — I don’t know, demeaning.”

“Is it?” Frank stares down dejectedly into his coffee mug. “God, this is hopeless.”

“You could always tell her you broke up,” Ray suggests weakly. The coffee in Frank’s mug suddenly looks blacker.

“I just need one chance,” Frank says. “I just need someone to agree to one date, so I can take them to dinner with my mom and then dump them before they realize how terrible I am at love.”

They both know that’s never going to fucking happen. Without a word, Ray takes a string of silver tinsel hanging from the rungs of the cabinets above and drapes it over Frank’s sagging shoulders.

*

When Frank comes in the next morning for his weekend show, The Hangover, there’s a new guy standing behind a desk in the front lobby. It’s disorienting enough that Frank actually stops and stares.

“Um.” There definitely wasn’t a dude there when he left on Friday. As far as he can remember, there wasn’t even a desk.

The new guy waves, but it’s more a wiggling of fingers than the usual side-to-side deal. Frank narrows his eyes and tries to figure out what the fuck is happening. The dude is in faded black jeans and a leather jacket that looks like it’ll fall apart if the wind blows too hard, and he has shoulder-length, dark hair like someone who should be running their grunge show in an hour. But his features are open and kind, almost feminine — probably not grunge, then. Besides, the station would never replace Bert.

“Is Brian hiring holiday help?” It still doesn’t make sense, given that they’re not a fucking retail store, but it’s the best that Frank can come up with.

New Guy ponders that for a second. “I mean, he did hire me. But I think I’m supposed to stay on after the holidays, too.”

“Oh.” Normally office gossip as important as a new hire gets around fast. Did anyone know about this? “And what did he hire you to do, exactly?”

“I’m like a receptionist.” New Guy gestures at the shiny new desk he’s behind, which looks extremely out of place in the run-down lobby of WNJR. “Brian said you guys have never had a front-desk guy.”

“Probably because we’ve never needed one.” It takes a second before Frank realizes how awful that sounds and backpedals. “I mean, since we never had so many guests on the radio before. We used to be too small for that.”

“Sure. Makes sense.” New Guy looks at Frank like he sees right through him, but he doesn’t call him out for being such a dick. Frank offers a weak smile and shuffles backward to take his exit before things can somehow get even more awkward. He’s got a show to run, after all. That’s a good excuse.

After he’s turned the corner he hears New Guy call after him, “I’m Gerard, by the way.”

“Frank,” Frank replies absently, his mind already switching into radio mode.

It’s only once he’s got the door shut behind him, rolling chair adjusted to the right height and microphone all set up, that it hits him.

*

“Tell me what you know about the new guy,” Frank says all in a rush, startling Pete so badly he nearly splashes coffee all over his ugly hoodie. “No, fuck, what’s his name? Gerard.”

Pete holds his coffee close to his chest and takes a step back. “Why do you want to know about him if you can’t even remember his name?”

“I remembered,” Frank defends, trying to hit that sweet spot between annoyed and imploring. “Now, come on, you eat and breathe this place’s gossip. Tell me about him.”

“Seriously, why do you care?”

“He’s new. I’m curious.”

Pete doesn’t look like he believes that for a damn second. He sips his coffee and studies Frank while Frank tries his best to radiate innocence.

It must not work, because Pete’s eyebrows shoot halfway up his forehead. “No fucking way are you going to ask him out.”

“I’m not!” Fuck, Frank really needs to keep his voice from squeaking if he wants to sound convincing. “What, did you hear he’s straight or something?”

Pete shrugs. “I haven’t heard anything about that.”

“He doesn’t look straight.”

“Neither do I,” Pete says, “yet I still have a girlfriend.”

“Having a girlfriend doesn’t make you straight. We’re getting off track.” Pete’s words replay through Frank’s head. “Does _he_ have a girlfriend?”

“I told you I don’t know.” Pete raises both hands as a white flag. “I guess you’re just going to have to find out the old-fashioned way.”

Frank looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “What the hell does that mean?”

“By _talking_ to him.” Pete reaches for the coffee pot again. “Jesus Christ.”

It is only Frank’s merry holiday spirit that keeps him from shoving a fake icicle up Pete’s nose.

*

Around noon the next day, WNJR’s heating goes out. Everyone bundles up in the coats and scarves they arrived in to keep their teeth from chattering loud enough for the mics to pick up, and Brian runs back to his house for a space heater that turns out to be broken. It’s fucking miserable.

Frank thinks, _perfect._

He cashes in fifteen minutes of break time that he usually reserves for smoking outside in the alleyway and sneaks out the back, heading across the street to the dingy coffeeshop he’s been in a thousand times. Giving up his afternoon nicotine hit is a big sacrifice, but he’ll do what he must.

Inside the coffeeshop, it’s so blissfully warm that Frank’s first instinct is to curl up in a booth and never leave. He’s on a mission, though, so he walks up to the counter and orders two hot chocolates from a very smiley college-aged girl. He’s more of a coffee person, but he doesn’t know Gerard’s stance on things yet; hot chocolate is pretty universal.

It takes a lot of willpower to force himself back out through the door and into the frigid air, but he manages. At least he has the cups to warm his hands now.

It’s sort of impressive that Gerard is still standing behind the new front desk. Frank had half expected him to be standing around in the break room like everyone else who isn’t on air, watching Dewees toy fruitlessly with the space heater and praying for warmth. As it is, though, he’s holding his ground with a very pink nose and a huge green scarf covering the rest of his face below that.

He looks up when Frank approaches and his eyes widen. “You went out in that weather? Are you insane?” His voice is all muffled through the scarf.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Frank says emphatically. He holds out the hot chocolate.“Here, I went to get these. I figure since you’re the closest to the door and all, you’ve probably got it the worst, and — y’know.”

Gerard’s mouth is still hidden, but Frank can see his eyes light up with a smile. _Score._ “You got me coffee?”

“Uh, no.” Frank’s outstretched arm wavers. “Hot chocolate.”

“Oh.” Gerard visibly deflates, and Frank’s mind whirls wildly, trying to figure out how the fuck he managed to screw this up. Jesus Christ, he is _hopeless._

A moment later, Gerard catches himself and tries for grateful, but Frank’s already gotten the memo. “Sorry, I just thought—”

“No, that was really thoughtful!” Gerard finally takes the cup, thank god, but it’s obviously out of pity. Frank lowers his hand and immediately stuffs it in his pocket. “I didn’t mean — it’s just because I’m a total caffeine addict. I appreciate it, seriously.”

Frank shrugs awkwardly. “Yeah, well. It was no problem.”

“I didn’t expect everyone around here to be so nice,” Gerard says with a glance towards the break room. “Do you guys always look out for each other like this?”

Frank resists the urge to hit his head against the wall, because this was _so_ not supposed to be a friendly co-worker thing, not at _all._ “Yeah,” he hears his mouth saying without his permission. “Just. You know. Don’t worry about it.” God, where do people learn how to flirt? One night. He just needs _one night._

Gerard tips his cup at Frank and tugs down his scarf to take a sip, and Frank takes it as the exit cue it obviously is.

*

He tries the conversation thing a few more times over the next couple of days, but somehow they never manage to get past the weather or how Gerard is liking the new job. It doesn’t help that practically every time Frank sidles up to the front desk, Brian appears out of thin air and barks that he needs something done right that goddamn moment, or a guest actually walks through the door and Gerard has to do his job.

“I tried talking to him,” he laments to Pete later. “Worst advice ever.”

Pete nods philosophically. “Yeah, I forgot to compensate for your total lack of charm.”

“Fuck you,” says Frank. “Where’s Ray?”

It turns out he hasn’t come in yet, but when he finally shows up for his graveyard shift that night, Frank pounces. Ray says, “Try it again.”

It’s still fucking terrible advice.

*

He hums “All I Want for Christmas Is You” as he walks through the lobby the following afternoon, “Underneath the Tree” half an hour later, and “Merry Christmas, Darling” as he’s leaving for the night.

Gerard doesn’t even look up.

*

Three days before Christmas, Frank decides it’s time for desperate measures.

“Frank?” Brian has to crane his neck up to look Frank in the eye, which is something new. “Why the hell are you standing on an office chair?”

Frank makes a noncommittal noise and pointedly does not explain. “I’ll put it back in a minute, don’t worry.”

Brian squints first at the hammer in Frank’s right hand and then at the green sprig impaled on a nail in his left. “That’s…not why I’m worried.”

When Frank shrugs and immediately goes back to it, Brian makes an exasperated noise in his throat. “The reason I’m _worried_ is because you’re nailing a part of the shrubs from out front to my _ceiling.”_

“Just above the door, technically,” Frank says, then grimaces and looks down. “You can tell it’s from the shrubs?”

“Yes,” Brian says impatiently. “So? What the fuck?”

“I was hoping it would look like mistletoe.” Frank catches himself on how obvious that sounds and tries to cover. “To liven up the station. We need decorations in more than just the break room, I think. Maybe get a little action going before the holiday party.”

“We don’t _have_ a holiday party.”

“We could.” Frank turns to point a finger at Brian, but the chair swivels dangerously instead and he has to cling to the doorframe before he topples.

Brian sighs so deeply it seems to come from the earth’s very core, then apparently decides that Frank isn’t worth it today. “Look, whatever you’re trying to pull, I don’t want to know about it. Just get rid of the damn chair, give me the hammer, and throw away the stupid twig. I don’t care if you don’t have to be on air for a little while, make yourself useful. Vacuum already, for Christ’s sake.”

Frank clambers off of the chair glumly and hands over the hammer. There goes his last idea.

*

Frank is so focused on trying to predict his mother’s level of disappointment when he shows up alone to dinner that he accidentally airs The Ramones’ "Merry Christmas (I Don't Wanna Fight Tonight)" twice in a row. Brian’s not going to like that.

He digs the Ramones as much as the next guy, but he’s fucking sick of the newly-mandated holiday playlists. It needs to be January already so he can go back to airing whatever songs he wants and not having to moon over romantic failure.

He kicks his feet up on the desk and scrolls past song after song of The Killers’ holiday discography, idly queuing one up for after the Ramones. It feels like twisting the knife.

It’s only as he’s pulling down the faders, gearing up for some quick commentary and then another torturous three minutes of festive bullshit, that he changes his mind. He’s had _enough._ And if he doesn’t throw himself a bone somewhere in this two hour shift, he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

Frank leans into the mic and says, “Happy holidays, everyone, but I’m afraid to report that you’ve come to the wrong place for joy and cheer. I’ll lay it out for you — Christmas is for lovers, and the rest of us unlucky bastards—” Frank can’t remember if _bastard_ was on the list of things never to say on air, but it’s too late now, “—what do we get to do? Suffocate ourselves with our stockings, I guess. If you’re in Winter Wonderland all alone, this one’s for you. Call in if you want, tell me all about how love blows.”

He rattles off the number and then fades up “Zero” by the Smashing Pumpkins. Turning the mic off but keeping his headphones on, he drums along with his fingertips. Billy Corgan’s voice doesn’t make him feel _better,_ necessarily, but he thinks he’s due for some wallowing.

The wallowing would be much more satisfying with some coffee, though.

He searches for a holiday song long enough to ensure he won’t have any problems getting to the break room and back in time, but he comes up empty-handed and decides to just fuck it all and play “Bohemian Rhapsody”. After disentangling himself from the many cords and wires, he gets up and heads for the door with his empty mug in hand, stepping out into the hallway.

Gerard’s standing there, staring directly at Frank.

“Oh, fuck,” Frank says without thinking. “Did Brian send you to yell at me?”

“What? No.” Gerard shakes his head, and some hair falls into his eyes. He shoves it back behind his ears. “I was just — there are speakers up front, I’m sure you know, and nothing’s going on up there so I was listening in. You just played “Zero”, right? That was you?”

If Gerard wants to maintain that Brian didn’t send him, he’s doing a terrible job at it. Frank supposes there isn’t much use lying, though, when all the evidence is plain. “Uh, yeah.”

“Oh, dude, I _love_ that song.” Gerard takes a step forward, a little bit up in Frank’s space now. “The first time I saw the Pumpkins changed my entire _life.”_

Frank’s mind reels. Gerard looks genuinely excited — maybe Brian actually isn’t involved. But for fuck’s sake, he’s been trying to talk to Gerard for _days,_ and this is all it took all along?

Frank probably shouldn’t waste his stroke of luck standing there like a slack-jawed idiot. “When did you see them?” he asks, the mug in his hand forgotten.

“God, years ago.” Gerard smiles kind of dreamily. “My brother was — fuck, don’t tell anyone this, okay? But my brother bought the tickets with money he made bootlegging Disney movies.”

_“Disney movies?”_

“Yeah, the rare shit you can’t find in the States. He totally got busted, the FBI showed up at our house.” Gerard laughs a little. “It was worth it, though. Best show ever.”

“Man. I’ve never done anything that bad for tickets.” That’s not to say Frank hasn’t done some shady shit. Just not shit that caught the attention of the _FBI._

“I’d love to say he learned his lesson, but.” Gerard shrugs, still grinning. “Do you play the Pumpkins a lot, though? When it’s not all Christmas music?”

Frank is abruptly reminded like a smack in the face that he’s still on air. “Oh, fuck. Sorry, I mean yeah, it’s just been — I bet we’re already at May’s solo, I’ve got to get back in there.” Frank remembers why he’d come out into the hall in the first place, and he realizes that this is it, this is his _chance._ “But if you want, we could continue this conversation after we get off? There’s a good coffee place across the street.”

Gerard’s face lights up, and he nods. Frank literally can’t believe it.

*

Christmas dinner was supposed to be the first date, but Frank is adaptable.

If this even is a date. They hadn’t exactly specified, the only hint being that Gerard was standing considerably closer than people who go out on friendly outings usually do. God, Frank doesn’t know. Romance may as well be another language to him.

Whatever. He can still make this work. All he has to do is let Gerard do all the talking — which, given their earlier conversation as reference, doesn’t seem like it’ll be too difficult — and keep his own undateable personality scarce.

That plan starts to fall apart as soon as Gerard sits across from him, nursing his sugary coffee, and tells Frank all about the shit he and his little brother got up to when they were in high school, the stories building in a hilarious crescendo until Frank accidentally unleashes his ridiculous pot giggle. He immediately clamps his hand over his mouth, but Gerard just beams at him and keeps talking. Eventually, he moves on to how he went to art school and is now working at the station until he can get some creative work off the ground, and Frank gets so caught up in listening to Gerard’s thoughts on freelancing and the cartoon industry and uncensored expression that he’s taken aback when Gerard turns it on him and asks, “So what about you? Did you go to college or anything, or is the station it?”

“Oh, um.” And this is where things fall apart. Frank feels his cheeks heat up. He’s had this conversation a thousand times, and the ending never changes. “I did the college thing for a little while, but it wasn’t my scene.” He shrugs with one shoulder, knowing he looks exactly as uncomfortable as he feels. “I know it isn’t much, but yeah. Radio’s it, I think. It’s what I love.”

“No, that’s awesome,” Gerard says, shockingly sincere. He reaches across the table and bumps his fingertips against Frank’s. “You found your thing. That’s all that everyone else is trying to do.”

Frank looks down at their hands, barely touching but still sparking all the way down Frank’s arm, and then up at Gerard’s earnest eyes. He thinks, _fuck._

*

Gerard is interesting. Gerard is _really_ interesting, the most outwardly passionate and scatterbrained person Frank has ever met. And now that Frank is letting himself think about it, well, Gerard’s also damn pretty.

So, naturally, he’s way too good for Frank.

They’re not dating, Frank knows that. But as they’d left the coffeeshop, Gerard had stepped into Frank’s space and smiled so sweetly and said, “We should do this again sometime,” and Frank had gotten hit right between the eyes with the realization that he’s in way over his head. Per usual.

He calls Ray and opens with, “I think I really like Gerard.”

Ray makes an unattractive snorting sound and says, “No shit.”

“No, I mean, not just because I’m desperate.” Yikes. “I think — fuck. We went out for coffee, and all we did was talk, but it was the most connected I’ve felt to anyone in a long time. He was so fucking _charming._ Can you even believe that?”

“Frank,” Ray says, really slowly like he’s explaining something to a toddler. “Has it occurred to you that maybe he was trying to charm you because he _also_ likes you?”

Now that’s just fucking ludicrous. He tells Ray so, and Ray does his trademark deep sigh. “Fine, don’t believe me. But you didn’t start this thing for the hell of it, so you better see it through. Ditch him after Christmas if you really think you have to, but you better not let all this go to waste.”

Frank pauses. “You’re a lot more invested in this than I thought you were, Toro.”

“You’re a moron,” says Ray, and then the line goes dead.

*

Frank paces around his apartment like a caged animal, staying up half the night listening to old records and new ones he’s been telling himself he’ll get around to for months. When he finally passes out, it’s nearly three in the morning; he shows up to work with bags like bruises underneath his eyes. Gerard still shoots him a shy little grin as he walks in. For a moment, it completely disarms Frank, and he only narrowly avoids doing something incredibly stupid like tripping over his own feet.

It’s Christmas Eve. Frank can feel the pressure of now or never like a gun to his head, but he’s just not fucking brave enough. He smiles back and hurries to his studio, shutting the door behind himself and breathing deep.

He’s fucked. He’s so fucked. This was supposed to be a _fake_ date.

He shuffles numbly through vaguely alternative holiday songs, leaning into the mic after every two or three to robotically announce who plays what and what’s up next.

Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised to find Gerard outside his studio door when he’s finished, but he jumps about a foot in the air anyway. He opens his mouth to say something, not entirely sure what yet, when his eyes zero in on what Gerard is holding. “You brought me coffee?”

“Hot chocolate,” Gerard says without missing a beat, holding out the mug. Frank doesn’t even bother to hold back his disappointed groan; he’s just had the worst shift of all time, he’s running on next to nothing, and—

“I’m kidding!” Gerard gets out all in a rush. “It’s — Frank, it’s coffee, you look tired.”

Frank frowns. _You look tired_ is usually just code for _you look like shit._ He still takes the coffee, since Gerard’s hopeful expression is pretty much impossible to refuse, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. “I’m surprised Brian scheduled you for today. I figured it would be critical staff only.”

“Yeah.” Gerard’s gaze flits away, and he shifts guiltily. “I was too.”

The silence that hangs afterward is thick and makes Frank’s skin itch. He takes a sip of the coffee just to have something to do with his hands. He’s pleasantly surprised; it’s so much fucking better than anything he could have dreamed of from the break room.

So, okay. Gerard orders coffee the right way. No big deal.

It’s just that Gerard also has a nose that is permanently and adorably pink with cold, and eyelashes long enough to catch snowflakes. He cares deeply about the things that matter. He doesn’t think Frank’s career is a mistake.

He’s kind of perfect. Which means that this rejection is really going to suck.

Frank takes a deep breath and says, “I’ve been meaning to ask—” just as Gerard says at the same time, “So I was thinking—”

“Fuck.” Frank feels his cheeks flush. “Sorry, I didn’t — you go.”

“No, it’s okay.” Gerard folds his arms and taps his fingers erratically against his forearm. “It’s not that important.”

“You sure?” Frank asks, definitely not just to stall. Gerard nods, the bastard. With no options left, Frank starts, “So, okay. I was just going to ask…”

He trails off, unable to force the words out. God, this is a fucking _terrible_ idea. He takes another drink to try and put some moisture back in his throat, but all it does is burn his tongue. Pathetically, he manages, “This is really good coffee.”

“I’m glad.” The hint of confusion in Gerard’s voice makes Frank want to hide behind his studio door and never come out again.

“Is it from the place across the street, or what? It tastes different than the stuff from the break room.”

“Frank.” Gerard looks at him steadily, and they’re close enough that Frank feels it like a solid weight. “What’d you want to ask?”

“Um.” It’s possible that Frank is out of practice. It’s just that he normally doesn’t get far enough to have to deal with asking someone on the second date, much less to his mother’s house for _Christmas._

With words failing him, Frank does the logical thing. He steps forward, tilts his head up, and kisses Gerard.

Gerard is frozen for a gut-wrenchingly terrifying second, and Frank’s head spins with a thousand panicking thoughts that scream about how he’s doing this wrong, but then Gerard murmurs, “Oh,” and grabs Frank’s face in both hands so he can kiss back hard. “Yeah, good question.”

Gerard takes a step forward and Frank follows willingly, melting against the door. The kiss is languid, warmer than Frank’s felt all winter. Frank spares half a thought for the fact that they’re standing in the middle of the hallway where anyone could find them, where _Brian_ could find them, but then Gerard curls a hand loosely around the back of Frank’s neck and everything else vanishes.

“Hey,” Frank says when they pull apart, too dazed to be embarrassed that he’s out of breath. “My mom makes awesome lasagna.”

Gerard steps back enough to meet Frank’s eyes. “Are you going to talk about your mom every time we kiss?”

A little thrill goes through Frank at the insinuation of future kissing, but he pushes it down, focusing on what he needs to say. “Do you have Christmas plans?”

“Um.” Surprise flickers briefly across Gerard’s features, but it clears just as fast. “My brother and I are going to my parents’ place tonight, why?”

“It’s kind of a long story, but, uh.” It’s a little bit easier to do this with Gerard tracing circles on his shoulder and the small of his back. “I sort of told my mom that I have a boyfriend? And I’m not asking you to move that fast, we don’t have to label anything if you don’t want, but I’d owe you forever if you’d show up with me and pretend for the night.”

Gerard doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “So we’d just have to act like we’ve known each other for a lot longer?”

Frank nods apprehensively.

A slow grin unfolds on Gerard’s face. “Then we’d have to be a lot more affectionate, wouldn’t we?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, Frank manages, “If you wanted.”

Gerard picks up one of Frank’s hands and kisses the back of it. “What time are you picking me up?”

Relief soars in Frank, and for a second he’s absolutely weightless. “Six.”

“I’ll be ready,” Gerard says, and leans in one more time to kiss Frank quick and hot.

*

To his credit, Frank remembers to ask for Gerard’s address before they both leave, and he even wisens up at the last second and gets his number too.

So getting to Gerard’s apartment on Christmas isn’t an issue, and he’s even there on time. But now that he’s knocking on Gerard’s door, Frank can’t help but wonder when someone’s going to pull back the curtain and reveal the super hot boyfriend that Gerard actually lives with, or a camera crew that’s going to make a prank show out of Frank’s pathetic romantic exploits, or, _god,_ a wife and kids.

But then the door opens and Gerard’s standing there in a nice button-up and crisp jeans, looking like the best thing Frank’s ever seen and leaning down for a kiss hello, and Frank thinks fuck it, he’s going to enjoy this while it lasts. He can deal with the fallout when it comes.

“You’re here,” Gerard says happily, like there was a single reason in the universe that Frank wouldn’t show.

Frank, still recovering from being greeted with a spine-melting kiss, gets out, “I am.”

Gerard’s smile widens as he reads Frank like a book. “Practice, you know. If we’re going to convince your mom that we’ve been together forever, you might need to get used to that.”

Frank’s pretty sure that he could be married to Gerard for twenty years and still not be used to that, but he doesn’t mention it. “Um. Did you dress up for this?”

Gerard looks down at his outfit like he’s noticing it for the first time. “Was I not supposed to?”

“No, I meant — I’m glad you did. My mom’ll love it.” God, Gerard wants to look _nice_ for him. Frank can’t help the happiness that bubbles up in him. “You ready to go?”

After looking over his shoulder back into his apartment for whatever reason, Gerard says, “Yeah. Is it a long drive?”

Frank shrugs and does some quick mental math. It’s half and hour from his place, and Gerard’s apartment was ten minutes along the way, so, “Probably twenty minutes from here.”

With a nod, Gerard says, “Okay, then, one for the road.” And before Frank can ask what the hell that means, they’re kissing again, Frank’s hands on Gerard’s shoulders and Gerard’s fingertips just ghosting his waist.

Yeah, Frank’s never going to get used to this. He thinks he could live with that.

*

Linda Iero crushes Frank in the perfect kind of hug as soon as she opens the door, and a second later she’s on Gerard, asking his name and kissing his cheek and crooning over how it’s so nice to finally meet him, because Frankie never tells her _anything_ anymore.

“Mom,” Frank groans the exact same way he did when he was seventeen, trying to push down his embarrassment. Gerard’s bemused little sideyes aren’t helping.

“Frankie, go set the table,” she orders, and Frank knows better than to argue with that. He wanders off to the kitchen and leaves Gerard to get his cheeks pinched, or whatever the fuck, crossing his fingers that this isn’t the part where Gerard finally realizes he’s in over his head and runs for the hills.

Frank doesn’t realize how nervous he is until a few minutes later when he’s pulling clean glasses out of the dishwasher and a pair of arms wrap around his waist, and something unknots in his chest. “Your mom’s nice,” Gerard says from behind him, voice warm and low in his ear.

Frank sets both glasses in his hands on the counter and turns in Gerard’s arms to face him. He’s smiling, which brings on another wave of relief. He’s also incredibly warm pressed against Frank’s chest. “You always like this?” Frank asks, because he’s having trouble connecting this version of Gerard to the one who was freaking out over the Smashing Pumpkins a few days ago.

Gerard kisses high on Frank’s cheekbone and says, “I could be,” which makes something hot unfurl in Frank’s stomach unbelievably fast. Before he can do anything about it, though, Gerard drops his arms and backs up. “Your mom actually sent me in here to grab the mashed potatoes.”

“Oh.” Frank gestures towards the other end of the wrap-around counter. “Sure, over there.”

Gerard grabs the bowl dutifully, but before he can leave, Frank calls his name. He turns to look at Frank over his shoulder, and goddamn, he’s just fucking beautiful. “You’re doing okay, right? This isn’t too much?”

Gerard’s mouth pulls to the side, and he considers for a moment. “If I’m honest,” he says finally, and Frank’s stomach twists in horrid anticipation, “I wish I’d known years ago how nice the holidays can be.”

As Frank watches him go, he roots around to find the usual residing sense of dread and upcoming disappointment, but all he can uncover is _happy._

*

Before they eat, Frank’s mother says a prayer, and Frank has no idea what Gerard’s stance on God is but he closes his eyes and listens anyway. Even though Frank hasn’t believed in years, it makes his heart swell.

They all get generous helpings of everything on the table, and Frank’s mom makes her usual big racket about everyone having to get seconds and thirds since it’s only the three of them. Frank knows he’ll go home with his arms full of tupperware containers and leftovers, and he can’t wait.

Gerard compliments her cooking and is generally a perfect gentleman, and Frank can tell that his mother is beyond charmed. Gerard explains about art school and where he’s hoping the future will take him, and Frank gives a slightly doctored retelling of how they met. Despite all the last-minute-ness of it, it’s somehow the most peaceful Frank has felt in a long time.

Somewhere between their third helpings and dessert, Gerard moves his hand so it’s just casually clasping Frank’s on the table. When Frank looks up, his mom is smiling and her eyes are a little misty. Frank squeezes Gerard’s hand gently, and he thinks that maybe, _maybe,_ he could have this next Christmas too.

The way Gerard is looking at him, he thinks maybe Gerard would like that too.


End file.
